A Much Younger Man - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,80
never guaranteed a happy ending.” Oh fuck. I said happy ending. “Life isn’t a sure thing. Love is a gamble. I want to be the guy who just puts his heart out there. I want to be absolutely transparent because my feelings are real and they’re true, and whatever happens, happens.”
Behind his phone, Beck said, “Is that so?”
“Damn right.” I fiddled with the guitar as if I knew what I was doing and started “If I Fell” by the Beatles. No other song captured what I was starting to think of as the bargaining phase of love: Is it safe to give you my heart? What will happen? Will you love me back? Will you betray me?
Is our new love—as the Beatles so feverishly sang—in vain?
It took meeting Beck and listening to my Dad to make me see that it was okay to love someone without worrying about what happens after. And I did love Beck. So I sang.
It’s a proven fact that my voice carries.
More porch lights came on after that. Most people seemed to think my caterwauling was of the lovable variety. No one threw a shoe, anyway.
Beck filmed the whole ordeal, and a couple of times, Rico put in his two cents—saying, “Boop,” and “Who’s a pretty boy,” and once, everybody’s all time fave: “You ruin everything!”
I had not ruined this. I saw warmth in Beck’s eyes. Heat in the way he took his plump lower lip between his teeth. He blushed visibly even under the weird glow of a streetlight, hands shaking as he captured my song.
I trailed off, and there was silence once more.
“So. That’s pretty much all I came here to say.”
After the initial bang, I’d finished with a bit of a whimper.
“If you—” Beck began at the same time I said, “When you—”
He tilted his head. “You go first.”
“If you want to talk about this sometime, my door is always open.”
“Now.” Beck jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. “I want to talk about it now.”
I turned away to hide my smile. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Beck got his things and added them to the wagon. I waved at Cooper and Shawn, who were still trying to give me the stink-eye. Shawn wasn’t really that good at it because he hid a smile too.
“Sorry I woke you,” I said, addressing everyone still watching.
Some people drifted back inside their homes. Some applauded. I bet the dividing line there was between people who had pets and people who didn’t.
“Come on, Captain Romance.” Beck chuckled as he tugged my sleeve.
Captain Romance?
What a great superhero name for me.
It is I, Captain Romance.
“So it is.” Beck snorted. “How much did you drink, big guy?”
“Wait—did I say that out loud? Just a couple glasses of wine. I’m silly but not drunk. You’re too important to me to do this drunk.”
“Mmhmm.” I took hold of the wagon’s handle and started walking. Beck stayed where he was. “Yep. Your whole ass looks good in those jeans.”
“Of course it does. C’mon Callie.”
Callie trotted toward me. She barked as if to say, “Let’s go home.”
I smiled stupidly. “Home.”
“Boop.” Even the bird had his say.
“Boop,” Beck echoed. We ambled along as if we were already a little family.
On the way, silence built around us. Maybe that was a two-edged thing about Beck. I loved his stillness, but it could be weird too. I talked in order to put others at ease.
Repeat people’s names.
Repeat their pet’s names.
Ask about their day. Talk about their animal.
Find something you like about them and tell them about it.
“Is that what you do?” Beck asked.
“Goddamnit.” Why couldn’t I keep my thoughts to myself? Beck’s eyes sparkled like gems in water. Oh, well, if he was laughing with me and not at me, that was okay.
“You really talked to your dad about me?”
“More like he pulled me aside and lectured me.”
“What about your mother?”
“She’ll come around.” Or she won’t. “I’m done looking for approval where my feelings are concerned.”
His eyes widened. “I see.”
“Well, I guess I wouldn’t mind your approval.”
“In that case…” He made me wait for it. “I approve.”
His words made me smile like I don’t know what. I wore a wide, huge, drooling grin, and I didn’t even care.
Let the world see it.
I glanced at Beck, chagrinned, but apparently I managed to only think those words.
“What made you pick the Beatles?” he asked.
“It’s not because of my age.” I said testily. “I’m not a boomer. It just fit.”
He nudged me with his elbow. “Better than ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’?”
“Shut up.” I needed